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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193574">Unfamiliar Moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofSixpence/pseuds/ASongofSixpence'>ASongofSixpence</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Adventure Zone (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Lucretia does an apology tour of sorts, Post-Canon, Post-Finale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:28:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofSixpence/pseuds/ASongofSixpence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucretia has been having dreams about Taako. </p><p>The dreams are never quite the same, but they’re the same in all the ways that matter. In them, he comes to her. His arms are open. </p><p>He says, “You’re still dreaming about this?” </p><p>He says, “I’d forgotten all about it.” </p><p>He says, “I forgive you, you know. It meant nothing to me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone), The Director | Lucretia &amp; Everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unfamiliar Moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a very personal project for me, and it took a lot of work and time to make it look like anything someone else would want to read. I hope that if you've ever experienced something similar you can find some value in it.</p><p>As always, thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kojum/">kojum</a> for betaing!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now that there’s no you / everything is new like this / unfamiliar moon.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipkAAVoghrY">Vance Gilbert</a></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucretia has been having dreams about Taako. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dreams are never quite the same, but they’re the same in all the ways that matter. In them, he comes to her. His arms are open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says, “You’re still dreaming about this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says, “I’d forgotten all about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says, “I forgive you, you know. It meant nothing to me.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia shows up at Magnus’s door in the middle of the day, when she suspects he might not be home. When she knocks, there’s an immediate explosion of noise: several dogs barking, followed by Magnus’s bellowed exclamations, trying to calm them down. When he finally comes to the door he looks a little windswept, blinking at her in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Lucretia! Or, uhhh, Director? I don’t know if it’s really a good time…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods apologetically and starts to turn away, back down the steps of his front porch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you if you had company.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no!” Magnus says quickly, catching her by the shoulder just a little too hard. “It’s not like that—just that the dogs are loose and I don’t want them jumping all over you. If you give me a minute I can get them into their kennels.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns back. He sheepishly removes his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head emphatically and disappears back into the house, shutting the door behind him. It’s a long moment before he returns again, but she can hear his muffled voice talking to the dogs through the door, “Come on, Green Bean, you’re better than this—no! Beatrice, nooooo, no…that’s a good girl. Yes, go on….</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he opens the door again. This time a long-legged, scraggly-haired dog noses out after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Johann.” Magnus says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It catches Lucretia off guard. Her first instinct is to laugh, but then Johann turns his big brown eyes up at her and snuffles curiously at her hand, and her throat closes tight around the sound. She gives him a little pat on the head. Magnus beams at her and pushes the front door open wide, leading her into the house.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were all those dogs yours?” she asks, following him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, gods no. Though, like, I get why you would think that. I’m thinking of opening up a dog school. These guys are my test batch, to see if I’m any good at it. I’m surprised no one else told you.” He pauses, and then glances back to look at her, eyes darting shiftily. “Oh, uh, I guess you haven’t really spoken to any of the others in a bit, huh? Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Lucretia says. Of course they’ve been talking about her lack of contact. It’s what she expected. “Your house is lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magnus brightens at that. “Thanks! I built it myself. Still in the process of actually putting stuff in it though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true. The house, while clearly lovingly and thoughtfully made, large and filled with light, is strangely empty. This is especially evident in the kitchen, where there is a single hand-carved table, but no chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the setup a little awkwardly and puts his hand on his hips. “Huh. Sorry I...forgot about that part. Chairs have been kind of a thing for me since—anyway. Uh. I don’t have tea or anything. Um. Juice? We could have some juice out on the back porch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds wonderful,” Lucretia says, and lets him guide her through the back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no chairs out here either, but Magnus doesn’t mention it. Just says, “Gimme a sec,” and turns back into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia sweeps her robes out of the way and settles down on the ledge of the raised porch, letting her feet dangle off the side. Magnus’s property is just outside of Helm’s Hold, which is a couple days ride away from Neverwinter. He seems to have purchased quite a generous amount of land; she can make out the steady silhouettes of cattle in the next pasture over, and past that, a line of trees, but no other houses. It seems strangely sedate, for Magnus. Not what she was expecting to find when she came today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The back door swings open, then closes again. Magnus’s heavy footfalls sound clearly against the wood as he comes up to her side. With a smile, he hands her a glass and lowers himself beside her, Johann flopping down after him. The glass is filled with lemonade. She takes a sip; he’s made it just on the side of too sweet, like always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what brings you by? It’s been a while, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was in the area,” Lucretia says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magnus seems to wait for her to go on. When she doesn’t, he says cheerily, as if he hadn’t noticed the pause, “Yeah, there’s a great market in Helm’s Hold. I’ve been taking some of the dogs there to get socialized—you know, to get used to being around people?” He absently reaches down to scritch Johann behind the ears. “They’ve been doing pretty well. Though it’s kind of weird being in crowds now—how everyone’s always looking at me. Like, it’s cool, I’m not complaining about being famous for saving the world, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know? I feel bad for not knowing people’s names.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at Lucretia, waiting for some sort of response, some endorsement of his point, assuring him she feels the same, but she wouldn’t really know. She hasn’t been out much. She nods anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes on, “Also, I was thinking about this the other day, and it’s kinda weird—I used to think of you as a sister? Like, for a long time, I guess I was sort of protective of you. And now I also know you as, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Director</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and when I think about you I feel all...I don’t know. It’s kinda confusing. Like there’s two of you. Does that make sense?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it so easily. Lucretia knits her hands together around her drinking glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to keep things professional between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magnus laughs. “Well, that didn’t work out, huh? You forgot we were all assholes, showing up in your office half dressed and stuff.” He throws a playful arm over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both sit there, not saying anything. Lucretia turns her face to the sun, watching a herd of clouds wander unhurriedly across the sky. It’s a sunny day; the kind of sweet, warm weather that makes you want to forget the world almost ended six months ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment Magnus lets his arm slide back off, hand knocking loudly against the wooden porch. Johann stirs and noses at his loosely closed fist, searching for a treat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another bout of silence, then he says, “Like that. Like, that felt perfectly natural to do, but uh, was probably weird, right?” When she says nothing, he eyes her guiltily. “So, I guess we’re still keeping things professional?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for coming here without any warning.” She says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no! That’s cool. I wanted to show you my house anyway. I was gonna like, invite everyone over and everything. Once I had chairs and stuff. I know you’ve been busy with the Bureau of Balance—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Benevolence,” she corrects. “We’re, uh...rebranding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, that. I mean, everyone else has been really busy too. Like, Taako is starting a school and—ugh, sorry.” He grimaces, bringing a hand to the nape of his neck and pulling the hair there. “I’m no good at this stuff. Can we talk about Taako?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we can,” Lucretia says. “Taako and I, we’re not…We’re….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know the end of the sentence, of course. She turns back to her lemonade. Looks deep into the glass.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s birdsong. The sighing of the cows across the field. Johann, snoring softly between them. After a while Magnus exhales loudly and says, “Is it…bad that I don’t regret it? Not like he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overhead, the sun has just reached its tipping point, and is leaning over the lip of the roof to peer at them curiously. It highlights all the unfamiliar lines in his face—blows up the new scars. He looks so much older now than he does in Lucretia’s memories, and when did that happen? This new Magnus, this slow and peaceful Magnus, he reaches up to tug on the back of his hair again, like he could pull the rest of his thought loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been hard thinking about her lately,” he says. “You know? I can’t stop thinking that there was this big part of me she never got to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if noticing his master’s change in mood, Johann sits up and noses his face up against Magnus’s shoulder, whining quietly. Magnus exhales and lowers his hands to give the dog a good scruff around his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Johann sighs in the put-upon way only dogs can sigh. He sits back on his haunches and cocks his head at Magnus, who in return leans over and gives him a kiss on the nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” he says, then smiles a little awkwardly at Lucretia. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all serious on you. Do you, uh, want more lemonade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…Please,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gone for longer then he would need to be if he was just refilling their glasses, but when he returns he seems to be in higher spirits. After he sits back down he tells her about each of the dogs he’s training: their names, the children they will be aiding, what he’s been struggling with, and of course, ways he’s excelling. She listens and nods and hmms thoughtfully, but mostly just sits there and lets the sound of his voice roll over her—warm, like the summer breeze—still going on long after both their glasses are empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Johann is less patient than her. When the shadows of the cows grow long he starts to whine, casting pitiful eyes at his empty food bowl. Magnus cuts off mid-story and says, “Oh man! I gotta feed the dogs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia starts to stand. “I should go anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns at her. “Are you sure? I mean, I know you’re probably busy, but I feel like I did all the talking. I still have no idea what’s going on with you, or the Bureau, or Avi, or...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smoothes her hands down the front of her robes. She’s enchanted them so they won’t hold wrinkles, but it’s hard to break the habit. “No. Thank you for your hospitality, Magnus. But you’re right, there are other things that need my attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks her to the door and then hovers in the doorway, hands pressed together behind his back, like he wants to fold her into a hug and is working hard on resisting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for stopping by,” he says. “Maybe next time I’ll have a place for you to sit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “Thank you. And thank you for the lemonade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, I mean, of course! No problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns and begins the walk back down the pathway that leads up to his house. She only gets a yard or so away when he yells after her, “I’ll see you again soon, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glances back. The sun is setting behind the house, and it transforms Magnus into a shadow. Into a silhouetted figure that could be anyone. She smiles at him. She raises a single hand in parting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moonbase is quiet, and it is still, like Lucretia has built herself a doll house and forgotten all the dolls. Avi is the only other person living there, and he does so, Lucretia assumes, as a favor to her, though he insists he has nowhere else he’d rather be. Mostly he’s just around to man the canon. He keeps her comings and goings in the same log book he’s always used to keep track of the transport, and she’s caught sight of it once or twice—the line after line of looping L’s. Her name is lonely on the page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the coming months the dorm rooms will be full again, and the Bureau will be busy with recruits united by their new cause. That is something worth sticking around to work for, she knows. She sings it like a hymn to straighten her spine when it begins to curve: this is something I must live for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucretia is awoken a few weeks later by a soft chiming coming from her living room: a charm that she’s placed on her front door is ringing, sounding to let her know someone is outside. It’s disorienting; Avi wouldn’t just show up to her quarters without an invitation. She pulls a robe on over her nightgown and hurries to answer it, certain that something must be terribly wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she opens the door, Lup and Barry are standing there. Lup gives her a once-over look and says, “Cute robe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia quickly glances from her to Barry. His mouth is set in a line, but he otherwise seems unworried. This soothes her fear that there’s an emergency, but doesn’t provide any further answers. “What are—?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We heard you were making social calls.” Lup says easily, cutting her off. “I got jelly. Can we come in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, yes. Of course.” She moves out of the way and Lup breezes past her, leaving her and Barry alone in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barry smiles at her apologetically, though it’s a little stiff. It’s to be expected, she tells herself. Of course there’s lingering unease. Still, it unsettles her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for barging in,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, please. It’s—you’re fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, eyes sliding past her. “Should we go in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia gestures him into her quarters, then follows in after. Lup seems to have already found her kitchen, and is clanking around loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m making us tea,” she calls out to them. ”Lucretia, your kitchen is so sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia laughs, the sound strange in her mouth. She doesn’t cook for herself much; the tea kettle is probably her most used appliance. “I’ll just change quickly,” she says to Barry. “If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Barry seems distracted by the large wall of journals she has lining the far wall of her living room. “Take your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she’s freshened up and changed, Barry has chosen a journal and is sitting at her kitchen table, leafing through it. When he hears her enter the room he glances up at her, then back down at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t mind…” he starts to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, cutting him off. “It’s your story. It doesn’t belong to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This seems to give him pause. Eventually he nods. “Are you still journaling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs once, short and small. “No,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He appears more bothered by this than she’d thought he’d be. He frowns deeply at her, but before he can say anything on the subject Lup comes into the room and puts a pot of tea on the table. Three cups and saucers come floating in behind her, and with a flick of her wand they settle in front of each chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get sugar,” Lucretia says, but Lup shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sweat it.” Another less precise gesture of her hand and the sugar bowl loudly bangs it’s way out of a cabinet and careens it’s way into the room. It lands on the table just a bit too hard, and almost spins off onto the floor, but Barry slams his hands down and halts it’s trajectory before it can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Lup says, not looking sorry at all. “New body. Still learning how to be delicate and all that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barry smiles wryly at Lucretia. “You should see her try and tie her shoes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopping near disaster seems to have lowered his guard for the first time since he’s walked into her quarters. Lucretia wonders just how much of Lup’s carelessness was calculated to do exactly that. Unsurprisingly, she also finds herself smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to show me later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup snorts. “Yeah, I’m doing demos tomorrow, come check it.” She settles down at the table next to Barry, propping her chin up on her hand. “So what’s with me getting a call from Magnus, who’s all worried you’re about to disappear into the ether?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia stiffens, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup points at the chair across from her. Lucretia isn’t the type of person who lets other people tell her what to do anymore, but she sits down anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he said you came over the other day with no notice, sat with him for a couple hours, then left. Hardly said anything. He was afraid you were about to, I don’t know, do something rash. Those are his words, by the way, not mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia feels her face begin to heat. “Well I didn’t mean to worry him. I’ll apologize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure we both know I’m not bringing this up because I’m worried about Maggie’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What’s been up with you? I haven’t seen you since we saved the goddamn world, and not for lack of trying. You didn’t even show up to my New Body party—which was the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>slap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, by the way. We got Kravitz totally smashed and made him do Raven Queen impressions, it was hilarious.” </span>
</p><p><span>“I’m sorry,” Lucretia says. “I’ve just been busy.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Lup looks incredibly skeptical. “Too busy for me? But free enough to go kick it with Mags for a day?” </span></p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing Lucretia can say to that really. She reaches across the table and pulls the teapot to her, pouring herself a cup. She can feel Lup’s eyes on her the whole time, waiting for her to speak. It’s the achingly familiar taste of Lup’s chamomile, not too sweet, just the right amount of milk, that finally gives her the courage to say, “I thought seeing Magnus first would make seeing everyone else feel easier. I’ve done...less harm, with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And did it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, matter-of-fact. “Which is why I haven’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup is quiet for a long moment. Then she says, clearly frustrated, “Well why now, all of a sudden?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia turns the words around in her mouth, trying to say something true. “I had the thought that I might...I could...make my rounds, and...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup narrows her eyes. “And then what? Cut us off forever?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia laughs sharply. “I didn’t say that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup frowns at her. Lup is a cutter-through of bullshit by nature, but it still catches Lucretia off guard sometimes; the way she’ll dig her teeth into you to stop you from slipping away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just worried, Lucretia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia sobers at this. She looks at the two of them. “I’m sorry. I genuinely am. Everything’s fine, I’m just—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Barry who speaks now, finally, cutting her off. Barry, who she once thought of as an older brother. Who stayed up late around the kitchen table to patiently puzzle out her theories each cycle, and who, for the year they lived together on Tesseralia, woke up early to cut her fruit for breakfast every morning. Even though she looks closer to his age now than she ever has before, being around him still makes her feel young in a way she doesn’t know how to reconcile. Like she’s someone who should be cared for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues: “Don’t say nothing, I don’t believe it. Is it forgiveness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penance?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she says. “No, nothing like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what?”</span>
</p><p><span>She shakes her head again, this time in an attempt to clear it. She feels a punchy sort of anger, suddenly, and</span> <span>stands up from the table and strides across the room so she won’t have to look at either of them anymore. She stands in front of her journals; the rows and rows of written history. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she says. She’d spent years of her life writing those journals. She’s always found it easier to say what she means when she’s writing things down. Barry used to be that way too, but his years alone have changed him. She’s changed him. “I have no idea, and I’m sorry. For bothering you with it. You and Magnus. It was irresponsible of me, and I...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long beat of silence, and then a hand presses up against her shoulder blade. It’s shocking; not just because she hadn’t heard anyone come up behind her, but because she recognizes the touch. She hasn’t felt it in seven years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I hug you?” Lup says from behind her. “Not to be lame, but I think we both need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia hesitates, then dips her chin. Lup wraps her arms around Lucretia’s waist, pressing a cheek to her back. It’s strange to feel the plane of her chest, the warmth of her breath, so intimately after all these years. Lucretia can’t get her body to relax, to yield the way she knows it should, but Lup seems to forgive this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We shouldn’t have left you alone.” She says, her voice troubled. “I don’t know why we thought you’d be adjusting any better than the rest of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia sighs. “I don’t need looking after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, duh, but...we still shouldn’t have. We should have tried harder to get you to stay. To spend time with us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we both know it’s better that I don’t.” She steps forward, sliding out of Lup’s grasp, and turns back to look at her. Lup’s eyebrows are drawn together, mouth pressed tight. Like she wants to say Lucretia is wrong, but knows she’s not. Lucretia softens at this. She takes Lup’s hand. “I’m fine, Lup. I mean that. I’m alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know you are.” Barry’s long since stood, and he crosses toward them both. “We know you’re capable, Lucretia.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels strangely chastising, though he probably doesn’t mean it to be. She dips her head. Yes, they all know how </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> capable she is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go,” Barry says. Lup opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it again when Lucretia nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll come back soon,” she says. Her tone leaves no room for argument, though Lucretia isn’t sure which of the three of them she’s trying to convince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walks them to the door, and is halfway through her goodbyes when Lup jolts suddenly, like she’s just remembered something. She grabs at Lucretia’s wrist, stilling her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taako’s having a family dinner at his new place next month,” she says. “You should come.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia glances at Barry, but he doesn’t seem surprised by the proposition. This is something they discussed before coming over, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lup, really, but I don’t think he’d want me there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Lup says automatically, then makes a face at Lucretia’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, so what if he doesn’t! If he’s a dick I’ll kick his ass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia smiles at that. “I’ll think about it, then,” she says, knowing she will not go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah. I’ll call you with the deets once I know them.” Her hand tightens around Lucretia’s wrist. For a moment it is too tight, and Lup’s eyes are too big, and Lucretia realizes for the first time that Lup is very very frightened. Then her hand drops away, and she smiles, and the moment is gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should reach out to Davenport,” she continues, to Lucretia’s surprise. “He’s going on this big sailing trip, so he’s not gonna make it to the dinner, but I know he’d want to see you before he goes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of you to say,” Lucretia says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup rolls her eyes, but steps back to stand next to Barry, seeming to understand this is as much as Lucretia will give her. “Take good care of yourself, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia smiles. “You too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t expect Barry to say much else to her, but he reaches out for her hand. When Lucretia takes his own, he squeezes it once, then gives her a nod. It’s too intimate to be a handshake, but too casual to be anything else. Still, it chokes her up. When he and Lup turn to walk back down the corridor, she stands in the doorway and watches them until they turn the corner and are gone.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She writes a letter to Davenport the next evening, before she can lose her nerve. It’s a bare, pathetic thing; after throwing away countless drafts she settles on just a few useless words, wishing him safe passage on his travels. She lets it sit on her desk for two weeks; covers it with the planograms she’s sketching of New Neverwinter, and the drafts of the Bureau of Benevolence’s constitution, and the notes Killian has been sending her on the progress of the rebuilding. She’s only written it to make Lup happy, she tells herself. To make Lup less worried, and prove she’s fine. Davenport won’t write her back, she’s sure of it, so why waste the energy stressing? Still, the letter sits there, an ember that won’t stop smouldering no matter what she buries it in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night that she finishes what she thinks is the final draft of the new constitution, she drinks three glasses of wine. On the tail end of the third she rises from her desk and leaves her quarters. The hanger bay is especially strange in the dark, echoing and cavernous, but the shape of Avi’s desk is easy to make out, and she crosses to it. Even in the thick shadow she can see the logbook he keeps, and she slips the letter to Davenport inside for Avi to find, then pauses there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon, the real moon, is waxing thick above her, it’s pale light shining through the domed glass ceiling, too high to reach. She’s always loved the way the moon seems so large and still above the base, but when she raises her hand to it now she’s startled to notice for the first time the way the light changes it. It’s an old woman’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want,” she says aloud, and then holds her breath.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Davenport replies a week later. Avi hands her the letter and kindly makes no comment at the way her hands shake as she breaks the wax seal. Davenport writes that in a few days' time he will be staying in a small portside town just off the Sword Coast. He has purchased a boat that will be docked nearby. At sundown he will sit and get a drink at a tavern called The Slinking Eel, and stay for as long as it takes to finish an ale. His name is signed neatly at the bottom. There is no other information given. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tavern is the same as any other she’s ever visited, if not a little slow for the late hour. She gets there before he does and takes a seat at an empty table in the corner of the room. A few of the bar’s patrons side-eye her curiously—Magnus was right, she realizes, it’s hard not to be recognized when your face has been projected in the minds of every being across all realities—but no one comes up to talk to her. She orders a glass of wine and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davenport comes in exactly at sundown. He spots her across the room, nods, then goes to the bar to get a drink. Lucretia takes the bell of the glass in her hand, hoping it will steady her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been busy,” is the first thing he says, hopping up onto the chair across from her. His voice is light, casual, betraying nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles politely. “You too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not like you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I’ve heard about the work you’ve been doing, helping rebuild Neverwinter. It’s good. People need a strong leader right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens her mouth, then closes it. Nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods too, then takes a long pull of his ale and fixes his eyes on a point just over her shoulder. They’re both quiet for much too long. Lucretia drains her wine quicker than she means to, which leaves her staring at the empty glass. She tries to come up with something to comment on—the tavern, his new boat, the taste of his ale—but she can’t seem to get her mouth moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally Davenport says, “How’s Angus? And Killian and Carey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not what she’d thought he’d ask, but she’s relieved to have answers for him. “Angus I haven’t seen much of as of late. He’s working with Lucas Miller.” No need to mention that she’d thought Lucas Miller was dead; these past annoyances seem so trivial now. “Carey and Killian have been helping me with the rebuilding efforts, but mostly from the ground, so I haven’t seen much of them either. They’re getting married soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they?” Davenport looks pleased, though it’s in a sort of absent way. Lucretia wonders how much he remembers about his time without his memories; if the fond feelings he has for the other members of the Bureau are real for him, or if they seem like something from a dream. A life that happened to a different version of himself. “Good for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” She worries her thumb over the stem of the glass. “They...asked me to speak at their wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barkeep appears suddenly, placing two fresh drinks on their table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I didn’t order anything,” Lucretia says, glancing back at Davenport. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shakes his head. “This is from the folks at the bar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia looks over, and a group of older men are staring back. When she makes eye-contact one of them waves a little shyly. They’re all rugged and leathery-skinned; probably fisherman. She imagines that to these men her and Davenport look like old friends having a late night drink. She can picture how cozy the two of them must seem to the untrained eye; colored warm by the torch light, exchanging pleasant conversation about their mutual acquaintances. The thought makes her stomach clench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barkeep goes on, “They wanted to thank you both. You two are the two right? From the story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Davenport says, a little stiffly. “That’s us.” He raises a hand in acknowledgment, and the men all erupt in excited whispers, turning back towards one another. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barkeep nods and moves away. Lucretia turns back towards Davenport, then her mouth is open, and she’s speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Davenport, I—I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t want you to think that’s why I’ve come here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks away from the men and stares back at her unblinkingly. “Then why did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because I’m selfish,” she says, and the singing relief of finally saying it is just as heavy as dread. “I’m—sick with selfishness. I came because I needed to see that you hated me, so I could leave you alone. I owe all of you that much, and that’s why—but this was selfish too, I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davenport stares at her for a long time after that. She tries to sit very still. When he finally speaks his voice is low and tight with emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How—dare you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia recoils, but before she can pull her hand off the table, away from her glass, Davenport catches it and holds it tight. She can’t move. Is he going to strike her? In front of all these people? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment stretches out long. She opens her eyes and looks at him. He is just holding her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still dealing with it, Lucretia,” Davenport says, his gaze bright and angry. “What you did. And it’s going to take me...some time.” He takes a breath. “But it’s not as simple as not loving you anymore, if that’s the story you’re telling yourself. Don’t you—don’t you dare do me the disservice of thinking it’s as easy as that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens her mouth to apologize, but the word is too heavy on her tongue, and there is just nothing, nothing—truly nothing she could ever say to him that would change anything. So she doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davenport watches her for a moment, then sighs. He lets go and reaches into the fold of his coat to pull out a handkerchief, which he offers to her. It’s only then that she realizes she’d begun to cry the moment he’d touched her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She presses the handkerchief to her eyes and then finds it easier to keep it there. “In all my nightmares he forgives me,” she says, the words coming out pinched and watery. “Taako I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davenport says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It matters. What I did to all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to pretend I didn’t do it. I’m...I’m proud of it, even after all this. Is that so horrible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lowers the handkerchief from her eyes. To her utter shock he is smiling at her—his real smile—for the first time since the day she’d taken everything from him. </span>
</p><p> <span>“Yes,” he says again. “That’s a horrible thing to say to me.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Lucretia chokes on a laugh, and then keeps laughing, because Davenport’s laughing too, and she wants to remember the sound for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I might be horrible, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at her. His smile is tired, and a little bit wry. “All of us are. We’ve lived too long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is the sensation of something expanding between the two of them then, and they both understand it; it is like a just-popped balloon, an energy pushing outwards, passing through both of them. Their time together is over, their loose-strings tied up. When Davenport finishes his beer, he stands up to walk away forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia watches him. It would be better to say nothing. To just let him have this. But—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Davenport.” He turns back to her. “...How would you have me live my life, now?” She swallows. “The others I wouldn’t ask, but whatever you say...I’d do it. I owe you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at her, like for the first time since he’d sat down she’d surprised him. “However you’d like,” he says. “That’s the gift you gave us, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Avi is smiling when she returns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have exciting news,” he says, squeezing her hand quickly as he helps her out of the cannonball. He doesn’t seem embarrassed after he does it, as he once would have, and that surprises her more than his words do. But they are close now, aren’t they? He’s been here with her all this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” She asks, bemused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leads her over to his desk and comes to stand behind it. He’s still beaming as he gathers a handful of what appear to be envelopes and holds them up for her inspection. She takes one, seeing that it’s addressed to her, but she doesn’t recognize the sender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What is this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Avi looks sheepish, though his eyes are still gleaming. “Well, I know you didn’t ask me to do this, but I saw that you were done with the constitution, and we’ve already finished all the reconstruction and gotten the rooms ready, so...about a week ago I had Carey put up a notice in New Neverwinter. I visited her while you were gone, and she gave me these.” He leans down for a moment to grab his satchel, and then upends it on the table. What comes spilling out seem to be hundreds of letters, far more than should fit within the confines of the bag, but Lucretia doesn’t have the presence of mind to make any comments about that, because she’s just realized what they are, and she has to reach out and touch them to know that they’re real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re applications, Director.” Avi says, his voice warm with pride as he catches her hand once more and holds it between the two of them. When her wide-eyed gaze meets his, he smiles. “For the Bureau of Benevolence.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taako’s new house seems almost familiar to her, which is strange, because it’s Lucretia’s first time seeing it. It’s perfectly idyllic; a white picket fence squared around a yard that manages to be both manicured and charmingly wild, artfully flushed with native flora: primrose, cowslip, bluebonnets, vines of honeysuckle spelled to creep along the walls as if they’d been growing there for years. The house itself is painted a soft eggshell, save for the front porch, where the dark wood has been polished and left exposed. It’s the shape of the balusters, actually, that solve the mystery for Lucretia: they’re the same distinctive pear shape that Magnus had carved into his own porch. He must have built this house for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia swings the gate open and walks the meandering front path, paved with slats of grey-blue stone. It’s just getting into the evening now, and the sun is setting behind the house. It’s quiet, save for the sleepy stirring of crickets in the garden. She knocks on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barry answers. He has a pleasant smile on his face, which washes into surprise, and then into something like satisfaction. He doesn’t say anything to her, just dips his head and pushes the door open wide, welcoming her into the house. She finds herself nodding too, though she can’t quite place what she’s agreeing to, or with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taako and Lup are having a shouting match in the kitchen about garnishes—Lucretia can hear them from the foyer. Kravitz, standing by the dining room table, smiles at her when she comes in, but looks just on the edge of panic. She wants to say something about how this used to happen all the time, but deliberates for too long on if it’s too sore a subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can, Barry, who has brushed past her, pats him on the shoulder and says, “Just leave it, they could be throwing punches and pulling each others' hair out without ever meaning a word of it. It’s when they get quiet and stop talking that you really have to intervene.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t make Kravitz look any less nervous, but apparently gives him the permission he was looking for to avoid the situation. He says something quiet about getting flowers from the garden for a centerpiece and excuses himself from the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shortly after, Taako and Lup emerge from the kitchen, holding serving dishes and looking deliciously happy with themselves. Lup bumps Taako’s hip with her own as they squeeze through the doorframe and he makes a noise of protest but can’t seem to keep the smile off his face. The scene is so domestic and familiar that Lucretia forgets she shouldn’t be there. She reaches out to help Lup with a precariously balanced plate, and only after setting it down on the table, realizes Taako is staring at her. His face is carefully blank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can do anything—smile, or nod, or look away—he’s turned from her and is asking Barry if he could be a dear and help them get some more dishes on the table. Barry obliges, but not without casting a nervous glance at Lucretia as he goes. Then the three of them are in the kitchen, and Lucretia is alone. She walks to the back door, towards the back porch, not wanting to overhear Taako’s whispered anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the edge of the sky is a thin, cloudless blue, almost tipping to green. It’s the strange time between evening and night, and the late-summer sun sulks stubbornly along the horizon, too proud to admit it’s time to go. Lucretia stands in its golden light and lets it blind her for a long moment. Lets it press her flat, white her out, erase her. When it passes, the sky has gone pink, and Kravitz is looking up at her from the bottom of the porch, holding pruning shears in one hand and fresh-cut roses in the other.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia knows very little about Kravitz, other than he is an emissary of the Raven Queen, and he’d cost Merle an arm. But he seems kind, if not strangely formal with her, and is the first man Lucretia has ever met who makes Taako’s eyes crinkle in the way they do when he looks at him. She has no idea how he feels about her, or what he’s been told. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, thank you. Did you grow those yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the flowers in his hand. “Ah, yes. It’s a new hobby. Taako encouraged me to try out activities that...don’t involve reaping souls.” It seems to occur to him mid-way through his sentence that this might be a strange thing to say, and he busies himself with removing his gardening gloves in order to avoid looking at her. Something about watching the grim reaper carefully place shears into a chest full of gardening tools is strangely endearing, and by the time he looks back up at her she’s gathered the courage to go back inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I heard Magnus and Merle arrive a moment ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kravitz hurriedly smoothes out invisible wrinkles in his impeccably creased pants. “We should go greet them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merle has brought his children to dinner. Magnus has brought Johann. Taako, who does not look at Lucretia as she reenters the room, is berating Merle for not giving him advanced warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well Magnus brought his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dog</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Merle says, indignant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dogs don’t eat people food, genius!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sometimes I slip him a little something, but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sorry for not giving you warning,” Mavis pipes up, voice small and unperturbed. “Our mom’s on a date, and Merle said it would be okay. But we don’t need to eat if there’s not enough food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taako scoffs. “Of course there’s enough food, pumpkin. It’s just good practice to not let your dad get away with shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks solemnly. “Mom says the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s then that Magnus spots Lucretia, still half hidden behind Kravitz in the doorway. His face lights up like someone’s held a torch to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Lucretia!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taako still doesn’t turn, though he does grumble about dogs in the house when Magnus weaves around Merle and Mavis and Mookie to get to her, Johann sticking close to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad to see you!” He says, and without another moment's hesitation, wraps her in a hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s overwhelming. For a moment, Lucretia’s throat squeezes tight—so tight she can barely speak to murmur that she’s glad to see him too. Her face has gone hot, and when he lets her go the room is too quiet. She stoops to give Johann a perfunctory scratch behind the ears so she doesn’t have to look at anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup, bless her, has apparently stepped into the room, and chooses then to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, I don’t get a hug? Who cares about Lup, back from the dead and in a new hot body. Noooo, Lucretia’s the most exciting person in the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magnus laughs and moves past Lucretia. “I just saw you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angus arrives just a handful of minutes later, sputtering his most sincere apologies for being late. He’s grown a couple inches in the half year since she’s seen him last, and is getting a little gangly at the wrist. Lucretia notices that when Taako, in a false show of annoyance at his tardiness, snatches his cap off his head, he’s not able to hold it high enough, and Angus swipes it back easily. Taako stares at him, agast, and then, in revenge, prestidigitates it bright pink as soon as Angus has turned away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With all the guests arrived, Taako ushers everyone to the dining room table. There’s a brief scramble to find some extra chairs, and for a moment it seems like they might have to pull some from the porch. Then Lup puts a hand to her head and says, “Hold the fucking phone. Are we not </span>
  <em>
    <span>wizards</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Which prompts Barry sheepishly conjure several sturdy, if not crudely made, wooden chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flushes. “They’re not as nice as Davenport could have done, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lup pats his shoulder. “Don’t set yourself to an impossible standard,” she says wryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia ends up sandwiched between Magnus and Lup at the table, which seems pointed, since Taako sits on the other side of Magnus, tucking him out of sight. (And her, by extension.) Once everyone is settled Taako gives a lazy wave of his wand, and the first course begins to float out on a series of increasingly ornate dishes. All the dinner guests </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ahh</span>
  </em>
  <span> appropriately, except for Merle, who not-so-quietly whispers, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Show off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first the plates he brings out don’t seem to fit any sort of culinary theme, which is different from the way Taako usually plans his meals. It’s only after the smell of one dish, thick and complex and utterly distinct, gives Lucretia such a strong feeling of nostalgia that she physically reels back in her chair, that she understands the underlying connective tissue of tonight's feast: Taako is only serving cuisine from the different worlds they’d visited. They’re recipes he must have just remembered, but that he used to cook all the time: buttery fry breads topped with rich, fatty meat; fish head soup served in thin, tangy broth; delicately grilled root vegetables, marinated in garlic and lemon. It seems to keep coming and coming, and the more they eat the more they drink, until someone gets the idea to toast to the worlds they’ve left behind, and then they are crying </span>
  <em>
    <span>to Tesseralia, to the Legato Conservatory, to friends we gained and lost!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The evening waxes into night. The toasts get sillier. Merle, rosy-cheeked, proudly raises his remaining arm, the one still clad in his bracer, and says, “To never getting this fucking bracelet off!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The laugh that bubbles out of Lucretia is thick and hazy. She nods, and raises a solemn glass. “To a free ride on me, whenever you may need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, the parade of dishes comes to an end. By now they are all languid and groaning, sleepy-eyed with drink and food. Kravitz makes the customary move to start clearing dishes but they all shout him down. As is expected, as is what happens when they eat together, Lup starts a pot of tea, and they all move to the living room to pretend the night is ending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The move disrupts Magnus and Lup’s careful choreography. In the shuffle they end up across the room from her, both too invested in the story Angus is telling about a spell gone wrong to remember their obvious plan. Lucretia tucks herself into a rocking chair in the corner of the room instead. Merle sits on the floor, next to Mavis, who has long tired of the adult’s stories and is reading a book she brought. Mookie has finally exhausted his endless pool of energy and is half dozing against Merle’s shoulder. Barry is propped up on the couch, a hand absently squeezing at Lup’s ankle where she’s thrown her legs over his. By all appearances he’s listening to Angus’s story, but Lucretia recognizes the tired smile on his face, and knows he’s thinking of how to most gracefully ease himself away from the party and into bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, Taako.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taako is leaning in the doorway of the living room, flushed pink to the tips of his ears. His glamour has faded, but maybe he’s too drunk to notice, or too drunk to care, or maybe it just doesn’t matter anymore. Kravitz, bracketing the other side of the door, leans close to whisper something, and Taako giggles helplessly, the sound distinct and familiar. He presses a hand to his mouth and turns, his eyes gliding across the room. They rest on her for a moment, long enough for their eyes to meet—long enough for Lucretia to see how they’ve gone warm and unguarded. Then they sweep away, unhurried, like an evening tide. Kravitz speaks again, gaze dipped low, watching Taako’s face. Taako turns back to him and smiles. Nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barry, across the room, frowns when he sees Lucretia making her way to the door, but she waves him off with a smile. Lup, with an arm slung around him, catches the interaction and blows Lucretia a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come visit soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she mouths, and Lucretia nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will, I will. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucretia pauses just outside the front door. Twilight has cloaked the evening in soft purple. The air is heavy and warm, but there is a cool breeze playfully ruffling the hem of her robes. It’s the kind of Summer night that’s so soft and lovely it almost makes you sad, because it reminds you that soon Fall will come, and there will be no more nights like this. At least for a time. From where she’s standing, she can still hear her family inside the house, and she lets her eyes close, just listening. They are a hazy warmth at her back, voices tumbling up and over each other like the babbling of a spring. And yet, the longer she stands there the quieter they seem to get, drowned out by the mounting cry of crickets and cicadas in the surrounding treeline. A chorus, rising and falling. And now, Lucretia lets her voice tip out of her mouth, and she is singing to them too: </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for leaving me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her feet have led her away from the door now, down the path and through the gate, beyond Taako’s well kempt yard and into the long grass, which parts with a soothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>hush, hush</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There’s a glass cannonball already waiting for her. She’d called it back inside the house with a press of a finger against her bracer; a weight she so rarely feels anymore. Avi will be waiting for her in the hanger-bay, she thinks. She should buy him some of that whiskey he likes next time she’s planetside—he’s been working hard with all the trips she’s taken as of late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass door of the cannonball swings closed, quieting the world. Soon she is rising smoothly upwards, Taako’s house growing smaller as she goes. The manicured garden turns miniature. Kravitz’s roses grow muted. Before long, she can no longer pick out his house from any of the others that dot the hillside, and it occurs to her for the first time that the light it gives off is no brighter than anyone else's. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns her face skyward, towards her home. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time Lucretia dreams of Taako it goes like this: </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is in the reception room of the Legato Conservatory. Someone has just finished a performance, but try as she might, she can’t remember what they’d performed. It must have gone well; the reception room is loud and boisterous, full of people spilling in through the double doors of the performance hall. They are faceless, a mass of shifting color. And then she sees him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles his sharp, toothy smile. He looks just like he did when he’d still loved her, young and glamorous and unbothered by the crowd, which parts easily for him. There is no need for pleasantries as he crosses the room. They both know they’ve met like this too many times already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Don’t say it didn’t matter,” she says. “I love you, but we can’t go back to the way we were before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns at her. “I know,” he says. “But I hate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she says, and she holds him. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/squaasha/">@squaasha</a> or tumblr <a href="http://starfleetofficial.tumblr.com/">@starfleetofficial!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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